Tintin and the Red Sari
by Concetta
Summary: Tintin is invited back to Gaipajama to celebrate the crown prince's twelfth birthday. Kidnapping, rescues and perhaps a little romance await!
1. The Invitation

A/N: Hey, there! This is my first Tintin fanfic. It was an idea I had while I was reading the comic books. How hard would it have been for Hergé to have one young woman character? At least a one time character? I'm surprised he never had Tintin save a damsel in distress, not even once. Seems like every comic book hero, super or not, does it once. So, here's my take. (Anyone else excited for the Tintin movie coming up? I so am!)

The Invitation

Nestor yawned with a wince as he sifted through the morning's post.

The little makeshift family of Marlinspike had celebrated the successful patenting of a recent invention of Professor Calculus'. The party had gone well into the night.

He never should have let Captain Haddock talk him into participating in a drinking game.

The game was this: Bianca Castafiore had gifted Tintin with an album of her most famous arias. Each time she belted "jewels" Nestor and Haddock knocked back a shot. Once during the evening the record needle got stuck in a groove on the buzz word. Haddock could not fill the glasses fast enough. Luckily Tintin, who rarely ever drank more than one glass of anything, quickly kicked the Victrola and set it back on track.

Professor Calculus did not get as drunk as the rest since he did not hear the buzz-word as frequently as his companions.

Snowy was somewhere sleeping off the effects like everyone else. The Captain had carelessly let some whisky spill on the floor as he had poured. Nestor spent most of the morning cleaning various corners and table legs the white dog decided to mark. Like a drunk man on the street, Snowy, when plastered, peed whenever and wherever he wanted. When Tintin found out he gave Snowy a sound spanking with a rolled up newspaper.

But, back to the present:

Nestor squinted at the names on the envelopes. Every now and then he pressed his glass of ice water to his forehead.

After sorting through Calculus' and Captain Haddock's mail, he finally came to Tintin's. Nestor liked to do things alphabetically, even when hung over. He was relieved to see that no death threats had been forwarded from No. 9 Labrador Street this week. Apparently, his enemies still did not know of Tintin's change of address. Good. It was just as well. Master Tintin never read them anyway. He just neatly ripped them up saying, "and that's what I think about that."

It seemed like it was going to be another typical morning when, at the bottom of the letter pile was a beautifully embossed envelope with gilded writing. The return address was Maharaja Saanjh Pandit of Gaipajama, India.

Nestor presented the post to Tintin who was sitting alone at the breakfast table. The others were all in bed with severe hangovers. Nestor already took an alka-seltzer and planned to take some up to the other sufferers later.

"Thank you very much, Nestor." Tintin's usual warm smile melted into a sympathetic grin. "How are _you_ feeling this morning?"

"Fine, sir."

"Honestly?"

"Like hell, sir."

Tintin gently took the silver tray with its contents from the butler's hands then told him take the day off. When Nestor protested he cut him short.

"I know you take pride in your job. Would you not rather be doing it in tip-top shape instead of hung over and risking mistakes?"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"At least, take the morning off and go back to bed. I can survive without you for a few hours. So can Professor Calculus and the captain."

Nestor hovered for a moment, plagued with indecision. Suddenly the smell of the eggs and bacon of Tintin's breakfast finally hit him and his stomach made the decision for him.

"Quite right, sir. Excuse me, sir." Nestor walked until he was out the door of the breakfast room then broke into a run, just making it to the bathroom to cast up accounts.

Once Nestor left, Tintin sat down again to breakfast. It was a good thing the cook had not been invited to last night's drinking binge. All Tintin could confidently make was toast and even that he managed to burn. How he survived on his own for so long he would never know.

Our hero finally proceeded to sift through his letters and he came upon the ornate envelope. He tore it open and read the contents:

_To Tintin, most honored friend of the Maharajah:_

_You are cordially invited to the beloved Crown Prince Aadi's twelfth birthday banquet and costume ball. The formal invitation card is also enclosed in this envelope. You are, of course, expected to enjoy the hospitality of the royal palace for the entire week. Any friends you wish to bring are also welcome._

_Cordially,_

Ettan Gupta, Secretary to His Majesty

_P.S. The theme of the costume ball is comic book characters._

"Captain! Captain!" Tintin burst into Haddock's room, letter in one hand, and a fizzing glass of Alka-Seltzer in another.

"Blistering barnacles! Do you have to shout? Go away and let me die in peace!"

"Sorry, Captain. Here, drink this."

The old sea dog crawled out from under his tunnel of comforters and coverlets. He hissed sharply as the sunlight hit his burning eyeballs then snatched the glass from Tintin's hand and chugged it like he did the whisky last night.

Tintin quickly explained the invitation. Haddock agreed to go; anything to get him to leave the room.

Tintin then proceeded to Calculus' room. With a shaky hand the professor held up the ear trumpet. Much the same happened there as in the captain's room, except there was less swearing and it was more pathetic.

"Yes . . . splendid . . . love to . . ."

"Great! We leave first thing tomorrow morning!"


	2. Arriving

**I started writing this down in a notebook after reading the comics and before seeing the movie (which I love, love, loved!) now I can't help but hear the movie voices in my head as I write. I'm listening to the awesome soundtrack as we speak. Love John Williams. Sorry I took so long.**

The journey by plane was pleasant but uneventful. Tintin and his friends were greeted at the airport by the Maharaja's personal car. A well-groomed man in a white button down tunic and trousers stepped out of the Rolls Royce.

"Welcome back to Gaipajama, Mr. Tintin. I am Ettan Gupta, his majesty's secretary."

"Pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Gupta." Tintin shook his hand cordially. "These are my friends, Captain Archibald Haddock and Professor Cuthbert Calculus." The professor tipped his hat to Gupta. Haddock was not paying attention, he was too busy ogling the lush interior of the Rolls. "I've got to get me one of these."

"I think the honorable Captain is ready to go." Gupta chuckled. Tintin rolled his eyes and gave his friend a "gentle" nudge into the car.

"Here, put these on." Gupta handed Tintin and his friends helmets that looked like they were issued in WWI.

"Why?" Captain Haddock asked slowly, dread lacing his voice.

"You'll see."

Tintin had been through some pretty high-speed adventures in his time, but nothing compared to driving in India. Secretary Gupta pointed out several buildings of national and historic interest as they drove—rather—swerved through the local town. Apparently, there is no proper side of the road in India. You pick a side that is open and go. Tintin had one hand gripping Snowy and the other the seat cushion.

Haddock feverishly opened his flask of Loch Lomond whisky and took a zealous swig.

After a few mintues Tintin began to get used to the pace and relaxed his grip on the cushion and his dog. When suddenly the car began to fishtail and the companions were thrown against the doors of the car and each other.

"Ah, some farmer must be drying their millet on the road." Gupta announced matter-of-factly.

The driver skillfully regained control of the vehicle and missed a pedestrian by inches.

"Blistering blue barnacles, what have you gotten us into, Tintin?" Grumbled Haddock, looking like his whisky might be coming back the way it came in.

"No, no, Captain! Don't get sick! Here!" Tintin yanked Haddock's hat off his head and shoved it under his chin.

"Sick? Me? Don't take me for a landlubber like you! I've survived squalls worse than this, and no little car ride is going to make my iron stomach—BLAARGH!"

"Almost there, my friends. Thank you for saving the upholstery, Master Tintin."

Snowy then began to make a gagging noise and Tintin had to hold his head out the window as he emptied his stomach.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the car came to a stop in front of a garage situated at the edge of a vast jungle.

The company stumbled out of the Rolls on rubbery legs.

"That was fun!" Professor Calculus announced not looking worse for wear.

"You would think so." Haddock grumbled. "Do you have a hose around here?" He gingerly held his soiled hat in hand.

"Yes, sir. Right this way."

Professor Calculus had for some time been looking about in confusion. "Where's the palace?"

Secretary Gupta turned to them with an apologetic look on his face. "Ah, I forgot to mention, there is one final leg to our journey."

"Bake? I'd rather just go to the palace, if you please, although I _am_ a little hungry."

Gupta clapped his hands and out of the jungle materialized three elephants. He walked up to one of the elephants and affectionately patted it's trunk. "These beasts are infinitely more valuable to us than Rolls Royces."

"I'm not gettin' up on that thing." Haddock said, eyeing them warily.

"Oh, come on Captain," Tintin said, patting him on the shoulder "where's your sense of adventure?"

"I lost it back in the car." Haddock squinted up at the elephants again. "The Rolls is better."

The elephant gave him a chastening tap on the head with his trunk, which to a person is more like a sandbag being dropped on you.

"You Bashi-Bazouk! Iconoclast! Dyspeptic!"

"Serves you right," Tintin laughed. "Here. A peace offering." He handed Haddock a peanut leftover from the bag they had got on the airplane. The captain hesitatingly held the peanut out toward the elephant. The animal's trunk enveloped his hand, leaving a trail of slime.

"Yeeech. I hope you're satisfied you troglodyte." In answer the elephant knelt down for Haddock to mount.

Haddock climbed aboard the elephant, with some difficulty, while Tintin and Snowy sat on the second one, Calculus the third.

"We have to take elephants," Gupta explained, "because the palace of the Maharaja is deep in the jungle. He likes his privacy."

They passed through the lush jungle, admiring the many trees and animals they passed by. Snowy barked at every one.

Soon the small caravan made it to the entrance of the Maharaja's palace. The group disembarked and walked around the large reflecting pool that lay in front of the palace. On one side of the pool was an elaborate pavilion with steps leading into it. Large cranes walked through the pool, picking at the small fish that resided there.

"What a sight," breathed Haddock.

"Indeed, quite beautiful," agreed Calculus.

"It's even more lovely than I remember it," Tintin said with a smile.

The group reached the wide portico where the Maharaja stood with his son. As soon as he spotted the group, he came rushing down the stairs to meet them.

"Namaste, my dear friend Tintin!"

"Namaste, your highness." Tintin bowed with this hands together in a praying position.

"I am so happy you could make it. My son is indeed very excited as well." The young prince Aadi rushed forward, forgetting all decorum and wrapping Tintin in a hug.

"Yes, if not for you I wouldn't be having a twelfth birthday, I'm sure."

"What's he mean?" Haddock asked.

"Master Tintin saved my son from vicious kidnappers when he was here last, five years ago."

"Just like Superman!" the Prince gushed.

The Maharaja rolled his eyes. "My son is obsessed with American comics now."

Tintin blushed a little. Under such heavy compliments he was beginning to feel self-concious. "No. Not like Superman. I'm sure anyone would've done the same under such circumstances. But, enough about me, I'd like you to meet my friends. Your highness, this is Captain Archibald Haddock, Professor Cuthbert Calculus and you've already met Snowy."

Haddock was not sure if he should bow like Tintin did, or shake hands. How did Tintin bow again? His hesitant greeting was looking like an awkward dance. The Maharaja laughed and relieved the poor Captain by taking his hand and shaking it.

"Any friend of Master Tintin's need not worry about protocol."

"Port of call?" Calculus piped up. "Belgium. But that would be a better question for Captain Haddock, I believe. I don't know the name of the port. Do we have a port?"

"I know your names very well," the Maharaja continued. "My family and I have been following your articles since you left. I should love to hear further details about your adventure looking for Red Rackham's treasure." The Maharaja turned and began to lead them inside. A young woman who had been standing just behind the prince the whole time finally spoke up.

"Uncle, aren't you forgetting someone?"

The Maharaja turned. "Oh, my dear! Do forgive me." He grasped her hand and led her to the group.

"My niece, Deepti. She is also my ward." The young woman was of middle height and dressed in an immaculate sari of robin's egg blue and gold. In between her eyebrows was a_ bindi_ of the same blue shade.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tintin. My uncle and cousin spoke of you so often that I was growing tired of it. But, here you are at last and I can form my own opinion, instead of the exaggerated pictures my relatives painted."

"Exaggerated?"

"I thought you'd be taller."

The Maharaja nervously chuckled. "My niece has an unsettling tendency of saying whatever comes to mind. Don't mind her. Well, we can't keep our guests standing in the hot sun all day, let us go inside. My servant Aabheer will show you to your rooms."

The group followed the servant while looking about at the splendor around them. Tintin, lagged behind, taking a closer look at some of the murals he had been impressed with on his last visit. In the middle of his inspection he felt a hand lightly touch his arm. He whipped around to see Deepti.

"When you have a moment," she whispered, "I'd like to speak to you in private."

His curiousity aroused, Tintin was about to ask why when she took off after her uncle's entourage.

"Tintin! Are you coming?" He heard Haddock yell from atop of the staircase.

Tintin frowned in the direction Deepti went before answering. "Yes. I'm coming!"


	3. The Way Things Are Done

A/N: I'm really later than I wanted to be because I've been agonizing over ways to prevent Deepti's character from falling into the abyss of Mary Sue-hood. I took the Mary Sue test and got 24, which, apparently, is not a Mary Sue but still calls for caution. :) I will try. I'm not in habit of making my own original characters Mary Sues (at least, not since high school :) ) I also wanted to familiarize myself a bit better with Indian culture. I'm fortunate to have an Indian co-worker who loves to share info on traditions and culture. I've also been watching a lot of Bollywood. It seems a lot of the heroines are outspoken (my co-worder definitely is), definitely equipped with a mind of their own. I highly recommend "Jab We Met", "Kismet Konnection", and "Pasand Apni Apni."

# # # # # # #

The Way Things Are Done

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Once Captain Haddock settled himself in his room he lit his pipe and left in search of his friends. He first stopped by Tintin's room and rapped on the door-frame.

"Hey, lad. Need any help unloading yer ditty bag?"

"I was just finishing up, actually. Thanks, though."

Tintin unlatched a medium sized suitcase to reveal a typewriter. With a grunt he lifted the heavy machine onto a nearby mahogany secretary. "This is the room I stayed in last time I was here. The Maharaja was kind enough to provide me with this excellent desk during my stay." Tintin began to busy himself with threading the ink ribbons. "I'm glad to see it is still here. _Le Xxe Siécle_ cabled me saying they wanted coverage of the Prince's birthday celebration and on the general state of Gaipajama."

Haddock rocked on his heels for a moment, then a sly grin slid on his face.

"So . . . the Maharaja's niece . . ."

Tintin did not look up from the typewriter. "What about her?"

"Kinda cute, eh?"

"Captain, go into my bag and get me my typewriter lubricant. Two of the hammers seemed to have rusted together while we were at sea."

Haddock shook his head, tsked, but still did as the boy reporter asked. "Sometimes I wonder about you, kid."

Tintin finally looked up. "What?"

"Never mind."

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

Tintin wandered the halls, reacquainting himself with the palace complex. Snowy trotted at his side, also reacquainting himself.

"Come along, Snowy. Do you really have to smell that vase?"

Suddenly, voices drifted to him from around the corner. Out of habit, Tintin flattened himself against the wall and peered around the edge.

It was the Maharaja and Lady Deepti and they appeared to be in a heated discussion. Tintin's knowledge of the Telegu dialect_,_ was rudimentary at best. His Hindi was passable. Needless to say, apart from common words such as "please" and "no", Tintin could not make out the subject of their disagreement.

The sound of feet pattering quickly came in his direction. "_Aandi_, Deepti . . ." Tintin heard the Maharaja say with a sigh. Tintin straightened and pretended to be casually walking around the corner. Deepti almost barreled into him.

She fought to regain her footing as her momentum caught up with her. Tintin grasped the hand she reflexively put out. Her brown eyes registered surprise then they narrowed.

"Were you listening?" She whispered, vague amusement crossing her face.

"Ah! Tintin!" The Maharaja had caught up with her. At the sight of Tintin the Maharaja's furrowed brow smoothed. "How are you enjoying your second visit so far? I hope your friends are comfortable and have everything they need."

Tintin stole a glance at Deepti. She smiled politely at him.

_What were they talking about?_ "I'm enjoying myself very much—and yes, they are settling in just fine."

"I am pleased to hear that."

"You know, your highness, I would be very interested to hear the history of how Gaipajama came to be and your family's rise to power."

"Ah, yes. I remember when you were here last I began to tell you but we were interrupted and I never had a chance to finish. Well, I will be happy to regale you at the feast."

"Tintin, you do not know what you ask." Deepti had moved to her uncle's side and affectionately nudged him with her shoulder. "You will be at our table a day and a night. Uncle might as well recite the _Mahabharata_ for as long as the telling will take him."

The Maharajah gave Tintin a long-suffering look. "And this is the thanks I get for keeping her on behalf of her parents."

"For which I am truly grateful." Deepti said, placing a peck on her uncle's cheek. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I must get ready for dinner."

Deepti spared Tintin a quick glance as she brushed past. Tintin's eyes followed her retreating figure. He frowned. _She said she needed to speak to me . . . so, when?_

The Maharajah cleared his throat, snapping Tintin's attention back to him. The Maharaja gave him a disapproving look.

"Tintin, I owe you an enormous debt of gratitude. If I could I would give you half my kingdom in thanks. But, I cannot give you my niece."

Tintin blushed hotly. "N-n-no! I-I-I-wasn't admiring her, I- um . . ."

The Maharajah's frowned deepened. "Why not? What's wrong with her?"

"I- what?" Tintin's blush grew brighter and he had begun to sweat.

Tintin had the highest respect for women, instilled in him from a tender age by the Sisters of Saint Élisabeth's Orphanage. And yet, as a general rule, he avoided prolonged contact with them (the Sisters excepted), especially the young ones, for reasons such as this. Things inevitably become awkward. Also, he was not exactly the safest person to be around. He was always getting shot at, knocked down, and chased after.

"She is already spoken for."

"I—She is?"

"The Raja Vaijayi, who is visiting us, has put forth his suit and she will accept him. I know what you would say. The concept of arranged marriages is strange to you. But, here we know the feelings of infatuation is temporary, but respect and real love, cultivated by the years, lasts. She is my ward, sent to me by her parents to look after her welfare. The Raja Vaijayi, although a small hills raja, has much land, all of which is rich in agriculture. On the superficial side, he is young and handsome. What more could a girl want?"

"Where are Deepti's parents?"

"Last I heard from my sister they were in Jammu. I've never been truly clear on what they do there or why they sent her away. Deepti has not been forward with that information, either."

Tintin put a hand on his hip and stroked his chin. "Hmmm . . ."

_The _mystery_ keeps building . . . I won't be able to stay away from her at this rate; I've got to know what's going on!_

_# # # # # # # # _

_A/N:_

_Mahabharata: An famous Indian epic that is 1.8 million words long._


End file.
